Many people know what to think of when they hear the word “Pamplona”. But how many people familiar with the image of men in red and white running away from charging bulls could explain every reason why such a bizarre activity started, and continues to take place?

In the beautiful tourist-soaked streets of Siena, Tuscany, one walks through two worlds. The first is the one seen immediately with one’s eyes: the beautiful brown brick houses, the lovely churches and piazzas, and the delicious food beyond quaint porticos.

The second is hidden, unknown to all but the most curious surface observers. It’s also old; older than most countries, yet with histories more cherished than most countries as well. It is a world of glory and history, tradition and pride.

If one were to see a Renaissance faire-like parade going on in the old city, those who didn’t know any better might think it were just that: a Renaissance fair or something of the sort, and an occasion to drink, eat, dress up, and be merry.

Over the centuries, the meaning of the word “Contrada” has changed to mean different things in different times. Membership to a contrada may have at one time meant membership to a labor union, while another time it might have meant membership to a militia, a church group, or even a street gang.

“Hundreds of years ago the city was separated into areas of trade — all the shoemakers, the tailors, would stay together and their sons would take over their work after them,” says my friend Gustavo, a councilor and Argentinian immigrant to the Province of Siena. “They were all members of a contrada”.

“During the wars with Florence, maybe the [ruler] of Siena would call on the contrade to help defend the city. Each quarter of the city formed its own unit”.

I would come to learn that each of these city quarters was transformed into a sort of Capulet/Montague gang turf, where the animal sigil of each contrada, such as the panther, unicorn, fish, or mother wolf, stood mounted on the sides of buildings where the street names rested, many of which still reside there today. Some contrade were mentioned as taking part in city sporting events before Christopher Columbus even left Italy.

The 16th-century chronicler Sigismondo Tizio mentioned that in 1482 residents of the San Marco quarter built a processional float representing a giant snail, the animal sigil of that quarter, and paraded it around the city. A contemporary of Tizio’s noted that “a rousing sparing match” was organized by the same people against the other contrade for the visit of the Cardinal of Saint-Malo.

Still older than that, the contrada of the Nicchio Ward helped Siena win a battle against Florence in 1260. While 59 contrade existed originally, over time some have been abolished, their legal status revoked or their wards combined with others. Now only 17 remain.

Fiercely pious to Saint Mary of the Rosary, each contrada has its own church and sacred baptismal font, where every child of the district is baptized into the civil society/militia/supporters group/labor union. The details of these stranger societies would continue to astound me throughout my stay, but none more so than the Palio.

Il Palio di Siena

This talk with Gustavo arose at a lunch, where, unbeknownst to me, I was dining with three members of La Contrada della Chiocciola, the Society of the Snail. The topic arose during a discussion of horses, which the man of the house at which I was dining clearly had some experience with in a competition setting.

“He’s never been [unseated],” I heard someone say of Carlo Barberi, a strong, yet slightly unassuming man, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind, sharp eyes and silver hair; one of my hosts. When it became clear that I thought the discussion was about jousting, Gustavo jumped to my rescue to give me a crash course in the Palio a sort of Italian version of the Running of the Bulls.

“It’s not a festival; not a party,” Gustavo said of the Palio. “It’s a culminative event of this energy that the people live every day”.

The Palio, held twice a year in July and August, is at the surface level a horse race around the iconic Piazza del Campo. Wooden walls create the racetrack around the edge of the plaza, with all the spectators stuffed into a standing area in the center where, cheek by jowl, they howl with ecstasy in support of their contrada.

“It’s life here; I’ve never seen an event that is so [feverish], where the people live it every day of their lives,” he said. “I’ve been to a lot of countries, and the only thing like it, where the people live that emotion day in day out is the Carnival in Rio”.

Done in Siena since the time of the arrival of a certain group of religious minorities at Plymouth Rock, New England, all the contrade participate for honor and glory (and bragging rights) in the Palio, which one could assume was part of these former-militias’ military exercises. Over the years it became a major sporting event, but even today carries an incredible weight of tradition, history, and religious piety.

Before the race, horse and rider together, if you can imagine such a thing, enter the church of their contrada and receive the sacrament with the blessing, “by the glory of God, return in victory”. Parades of flags, men in suits of armor and historic livery, playing drums and singing songs, lead their rider into the Piazza where they bid their horse drink from a sacred fountain of holy water.

All covered in different colors and animals, they’re the perfect example of what Medieval sports teams would look like, except instead of the Arizona Cardinals against the LA Rams, it’s the San Marco Snails versus the Nicchio Seashells.

During the race, pushing and even striking one another from horseback are permitted, both with the hand and with their riding crops, called “nerbo” after the piece of dried sinew they traditionally used. This makes the spectacle even more tense, as not only are the rider’s always alongside one another in the narrow racetrack, but they ride without saddles, relying only on balance, leg strength, and sheer nerve to remain on their horses.

“They must be very physically strong, and also a bit crazy because of the speed and the narrow corners,” explains Paola Cialdini, a local tour guide, friend, and another member of the Snail contrada. “Also, there are rivalries. And so depending on the orders from the captains, the riders may try to stop another contrada from winning”.

“Every contrada has a rival because they share borders, so my contrada is the snail, and our rival is the tortoise because we are so close together,” she said. Unsurprisingly then with all this rivalry, I heard Carlo described as a “Picchiatore,” the member of the contrada who is the one “not afraid to be in the line,” as Paola says. Whether she deliberately used such Homerian/Medieval language because of the topic, or if that’s just how Italians refer to street fights, I cannot say.

For English speakers looking to visit Siena during the Palio, Paola is an exceptional guide, who speaks English very well, and is embedded in the lifestyle of the contrada like everyone else.

The Contrada of the Snail

When I was in town, Carlo and Paola took me to see the museum of the Contrada della Chiocciola, or the snail. In a quiet district on a narrow street far from the touristy sights, an unassuming brown building stood next to the gate to an open-air chapel.

Into its offices our merry band walked, to receive an exclusive tour of the museum of one of the oldest contrada in the city. There was original garb and weaponry from the days of actual military service 400 years or more ago, all covered in images of a humble snail.

A chapel contained reliquaries of the remains of Saint Augustine and others, as well as the portraits of the members of the contrada who died during the First and Second World Wars.

At this point, and noticing my surprise, Paola looked at me to note: “We’re a truly mad city, no?”

In the basement, paintings and tapestries woven to commemorate victories in the Palio, sat in glass cases; names of regular citizens that would normally be forgotten, instead forever enshrined in the colors of red and yellow.

The painting of one stud, Pietro Locchi, hung next to the dates of 4 Palio victories across from a glass case where heraldic script dating to a victory in 1982 contained the name of my host, Carlo Barberi.

In the sacred church where Chiocciola rider and horse receive the sacrament was a photograph of a painting that once hung there. It now resides, quite bizarrely, in the National Gallery of Washington D.C. Our tour guide lit up like a Christmas tree when I explained the gallery was 40 minutes from my house, and that I could send her a photo if she liked, to which she replied it would “truly be a gross and enormous pleasure”.

I left the museum dizzy with history and other people’s passions. I felt as if I had, in my second language, absorbed some enormous piece of human heritage, the memory of which relied entirely on my abilities to retell it.

Maybe it’s unsurprising that the contrade continue even unto this day. Siena contains the oldest continually operating bank and one of Europe’s oldest universities. As I’ve detailed before, Tuscany endures and changes slowly. If you’re going to Siena, pay in mind the dates of the Palio, and you just might see the oldest continual team sporting events on the continent. WaL

 

PICTURED ABOVE: La Contrada della Chiocciola, arrayed before their ward’s historic church, ready for parade to the Palio grounds of the Piazza del Campo. Photo credit: The museum of the Contrada della Chiocciola.

All photography is property of Andrew Corbley © All Rights Reserved 

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